Hogwarts Express
Freya leaned against the stone wall that leads to Platform 9¾, her gaze shifting between her phone and the bustling scene at King’s Cross, searching for a familiar face. Each year, it seemed her excitement for the first of September waned. The thrill of purchasing new books, packing robes, and all the associated rituals felt increasingly diminished. She remembered vividly the day she received her first letter. Just after her eleventh birthday, an owl had swooped in through the window, heralding a moment that would transform her life and affirm that she was not merely an ordinary London girl. She had understood the significance of the letter, yet the reality had been startling. She had assumed it was a missive from the Ministry of Magic for her mother or something of that sort. But no, it was for her. "Freya Everhart," it had stated on the back.
"Freya, what is that? Is it for me?" her mother called from inside the flat, while Freya stood pale in the hallway, her eyes fixed on the unmistakable wax seal.
"No, Mum!"
"Well, who is it for, then?"
Freya remained silent. The reality was still sinking in. Hogwarts? A magical place? And now she was supposed to go there?
"Freya, when I ask you something, I expect an answer!" Her mother’s voice grew more insistent as she hurried into the hallway, dishcloth still in hand. As she approached, the expression on Freya’s face made it clear, even though she herself was reluctant to believe it.
"Freya, who is it for?" she asked again, hoping against hope that her daughter’s answer would prove her fears unfounded.
"For… for me…" Freya replied, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"Let me see." Her mother took the letter from Freya’s hands and unwrapped it with trembling fingers. An invitation to Hogwarts, signed by Professor McGonagall. And yes, the clear dedication—Freya Everhart, her daughter. She had expected her children to be Muggles, normal children without magical abilities. She herself was a witch of Muggle parentage who had married a Muggle. She had anticipated her children would follow suit. Her son, Theo, who was three years older, had never received his Hogwarts letter, so she had anticipated the same for Freya. But now, Freya was set to face the same destiny that had awaited her 22 years ago. Only her own parents had been blissfully unaware of the magical world they were thrusting their daughter into.
"Mum, why are you sad?" Freya’s eyes glistened as she looked at her mother with concern.
"Who’s sad? Me? Oh, you silly girl, it’s just your imagination." Her mother, momentarily lost in thought, knelt down and opened her arms for Freya to run into her embrace. "I’m incredibly proud of you, my little witch. I didn’t call you that all these years without reason." Indeed, she was proud, but also deeply apprehensive. After the Battle of Hogwarts, she had never returned to the magical world nor picked up her wand again. She had tried to forget everything, but here it was—her own daughter, heading to Hogwarts. It seemed fate had caught up with her.
Freya had always known her mother was not particularly fond of magic, despite being a witch herself. She also knew that her mother had tried to suppress these feelings to avoid spoiling Freya’s experience. Freya had been sorted into Ravenclaw, just like her mother. The Sorting Hat had whispered that it knew whose daughter she was and suggested that her mother could not hide forever in her self-imposed retreat. Though the hat was aware of Isabella, the Ravenclaw witch who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, it seemed that no one else at the school remembered her—no professors, no staff. Perhaps that was for the best, as it allowed Freya to forge her own sense of belonging.
"Freya, put away your phone. Hand it over." Her mother’s voice broke through her reverie as she took the phone from Freya’s hands.
"Mum!" Freya protested.
"Not another word, young lady. You know there’s no place for Muggle innovations at Hogwarts."
"Yeah, right. They haven’t moved beyond the Victorian era."
"Freya, Hogwarts is to be spoken of with respect."
"Yes, indeed," Freya’s voice dripped with sarcasm. "Just as you had so much respect for it and abandoned everything, hanging up your wand."
"Freya!" Her mother’s eyes flashed with frustration. "What did we say about addressing your mother? When you’ve faced what I have, you’ll understand. Though I hope you never do."
"Understand what? The Battle of Hogwarts? Don’t exaggerate."
"Freya, I’m warning you!"
"I know perfectly well that you plan to lock me up after Hogwarts until I've passed all my exams and enrolled in some university."
"Don't play the fool! After you turn seventeen, you'll be a fully-fledged witch."
"Which doesn’t make me of age in the Muggle world—the world we live in, Mum. How will you explain to people that you let your underage daughter go off to deal with some nonsense while I just might be off handling centaurs in the forest?" This left her mother momentarily speechless. Isabella attempted to respond, but just then, two blue eyes and a cascade of blonde bangs appeared.
"Lottie! There you are!" Freya exclaimed, her face lighting up as she rushed towards her childhood friend.
"Hey, girl! Sorry I’m late. Dad missed the parking space again, and Mum had a meltdown. I came as quickly as I could," Lottie explained.
"You could have come with us; Theo’s been playing the jealous brat and missed my annual send-off to hell." Freya huffed, adjusting Lottie’s disheveled braids from all the running.
"Oh no, there was no way I was going to push my way in."
"Why not? We live on the same street. It’s not like we’d be crossing half the world to pick you up," Freya laughed and then leaned closer to whisper, "Though for you, I’d cross half the world on a ragged quidditch broom."
"A ragged quidditch broom!" Lottie teased, playfully tapping Freya on the arm. "If only Isabella heard that!"
"What would Isabella have heard?" Isabella’s voice cut through with a sharp edge.
"I was just saying, how are you, Aunt Isabella? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you," Lottie said, moving in for a hug.
"Don’t you start with me; I’m still a Ravenclaw witch and still know how to turn you into a frog," Isabella said with a mock sternness, giving Lottie’s ear a playful tug before releasing her from the embrace. "It’s not as if you and Freya didn’t make a ruckus packing for Hogwarts last night. Same old story."
In truth, Freya and Lottie had grown up on the same street, attended the same primary school, and could be considered the best of friends—childhood companions, even soulmates. Both had come from Muggle backgrounds, though Freya’s mother, despite her origin, was a witch, while Lottie’s parents were both Muggles. Both girls had received their Hogwarts letters, though it had taken Lottie’s parents fifteen owls and countless serious conversations with Freya’s parents to be convinced of the "magical nonsense." She was their only child, and they couldn't simply let her board the "magic train" to learn about witchcraft. Initially, they had thought they were being targeted by some London religious cult—a favorite joke of Lottie’s when introducing herself to new acquaintances.
"Isabella, dear, how are you?" Margaret, Lottie’s mother, approached warmly.
"Hello, dear. Oh, you know how it is—every year the same, and they just get more rebellious."
"Let’s just hope she gets through it and returns to her studies," Margaret said, trying unsuccessfully to calm the brightly colored owl flapping its wings in the cage on the trunk. "There’s no future in magic, as you well know."
"Studies, you say?"
"Indeed. Lottie has always wanted to study medicine," Margaret said with a proud sigh.
"You know, Hogwarts has excellent healers."
"Oh, no, no, no! That’s out of the question. Medicine is one thing, magic is another."
"Let her figure it out for herself. She may not want it anymore."
"Oh, but she does. We told the family she’s going to a special school for gifted children. I refuse to have it spread that my child is going to a school for witches and wizards," Margaret said with distaste.
"Well, it’s not far from the truth," Isabella said with a pained smile, realizing she wouldn’t change Margaret's mind. Was this mindset something she’d subtly passed on to Freya, making her difficult to bear? But it was too late to rectify now.
"We should head to the platform. The train will be departing soon," Freya noted.
"Yes, yes, of course. Well, girls, you know what to do." Isabella crossed her arms.
The friends exchanged glances, each taking her trolley and preparing to run toward the wall between platforms 9 and 10. Freya went first, vanishing behind the wall in an instant. Lottie followed shortly after, and then their mothers. Soon, they were surrounded by a throng of witches and wizards bidding their children farewell for Hogwarts.
Before boarding the train, Isabella’s voice called out, "Freya!"
The girl turned and headed back to her mother, who wrapped her in a tight embrace. "My little eagle, be good this year, won’t you? I don’t care about your grades; what matters is you. Stay out of trouble and be careful whom you trust."
"Isabella, the fierce Ravenclaw, advising her daughter—who, by the way, is also a Ravenclaw—not to worry about academic validation? Have we mixed up our houses or something?" Freya joked, still holding on to her mother.
"Foolish girl!" Isabella ruffled her hair affectionately. "You’re just like me!" She let go as the whistle of the departing train sounded. Freya dashed off and boarded the train.
"I love you, my little witch!" Isabella called out.
"I love you too, Mum!" Freya replied, then disappeared into the swirling steam of the Hogwarts Express.
"Oh, damn it, there's not a single free compartment," Lottie was peeking into each compartment of the train, searching for a place for them to sit.
"Surely there's at least one that's somewhat empty? We don't always have to isolate ourselves," Freya added.
"Look, there's space in this one. Only two guys are in there." Lottie grabbed the handle, but Freya stopped her just in time. "What's up, Freya? You were the one who said we don't always have to be alone."
"Do you even see who's inside?" Freya hissed.
"Two guys in hoodies. One has dark hair, the other’s a blond," Lottie replied casually, still not grasping why Freya was freaking out.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, open your eyes!" Freya slapped her own forehead. "That’s Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy. The two most notorious guys of our generation. One was rumored to be the son of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and the other is the first Potter in Slytherin. Remember last year when both of them caused a mess with the Time-Turner? They almost got expelled."
"Oh, come on, a Time-Turner? Aren’t they all supposed to be confiscated and destroyed by the Ministry?"
"Yeah, right. Don't act naïve, Lottie; they’re not a good idea."
"Well, then you go and find us another compartment, and I’ll sit here because my legs are numb from all the running." Lottie snapped back and opened the compartment door. "Hey, can we sit here with you guys?"
The boys turned to look at the smiling Lottie and Freya, who was on the verge of a heart attack but didn’t dare to flee.
"Of course. Albus, come sit next to me. Let the girls sit together." The blond boy, whom they assumed was Scorpius, called the other one over to make room. He had a gentle expression and a smile. He didn't seem that bad. The girls quickly sat down and closed the compartment door.
"I'm Lottie Moore, nice to meet you." She extended her hand to the blond boy with a wide smile.
"Scorpius Malfoy," he responded with a smile as they shook hands. After that, he nudged the boy next to him to shake hands as well.
"Albus Potter, nice to meet you." The dark-haired boy jerked slightly and reluctantly shook Lottie’s hand.
"Scorpius, nice to meet you." The boy extended his hand toward Freya, who jumped, realizing she had been impolite.
"Freya Everhart," she introduced herself first to Scorpius, then to Albus.
"Are you a Slytherin? I haven’t seen you in the common rooms." He asked her a question she hadn’t anticipated. Clearly, she wasn’t as ready for conversation as Lottie, so she was surprised he hadn’t started with her. It seemed Freya had caught his attention more. But her? A Slytherin? Why? He was one of them for obvious reasons, but her giving off Slytherin vibes? Maybe it was the black hair or the intense yellowish eyes?
"No, no. Um… I’m a Ravenclaw."
"Oh, well, that explains it. There's no way I wouldn’t have noticed you if you were with us."
What does that explain? Was he flirting with her? Lottie nudged her in the side and giggled.
"And where do you think I'm from?" Lottie asked him.
"Hmm, let me see… Hufflepuff?"
"Aw, come on, am I that obvious? I want to look as cool as Freya." She crossed her arms and pretended to pout. Scorpius laughed at her cuteness and glanced at Albus, who was looking everywhere but at them—sometimes through the window, sometimes through the door, sometimes at the floor and the ceiling.
"You're Harry Potter's son, right?" Freya blurted out to Albus, only to realize afterward that maybe she shouldn’t have.
Albus shot her a sharp look. "Yes. Yes, I am. Why?"
"Oh, just asking," she forced a smile, trying to soften his sour expression.
"Don't mind Albus; he's always like that. He's really nice once you get to know him, just a bit antisocial," Scorpius tossed in, pinching Albus's arm to bring him back to reality.
"And you, whose daughter are you?" Albus asked the same question, still frowning.
"Oh, nobody’s. I’m from a Muggle family. We both are." Freya quickly answered him.
"How modest she is!" Lottie chimed in. "Freya's mother is a witch and was in the same generation as your fathers, but she’s Muggle-born. On the other hand, I’m completely from a Muggle family. We grew up in the same neighborhood." Freya didn't really like Lottie jumping in like that. She didn’t like talking about her mother. She felt a kind of shame, although she didn’t want to accept it as a fact. She was ashamed of her mother, who ran away from her magical responsibilities like that.
"Really? Maybe my father knows her. Where is your mother employed?" Scorpius asked.
"Oh, no, not a chance. She hasn't picked up a wand in years. She married my Muggle father and raised my brother and me in the Muggle world."
"You have a brother? What year is he in?"
"He's not… He’s a Muggle." She hesitated, once again ashamed of her background.
"Well, alright, so you inherited the magical blood."
"I wish I hadn’t," she muttered to herself.
"What did you say? I didn’t hear you," Scorpius leaned in, ears pricked.
"Nothing!" She jumped, which made him jump too.
"Guys, we’ve arrived!" Lottie broke the awkward silence, staring out of the train window with her palms on the glass. Freya sighed with relief, knowing she wouldn’t be forced to have small talk with people she didn't want around her. Lottie grabbed her hand, and they quickly exited the compartment.
Scorpius kept looking after them and smirked, then glanced at Albus. "What now, why the sour face?"
"I don't like those two."
"And who have you ever liked? Come on, get up!" He patted him on the back and got up from his seat.
"You, you were the one I liked," Albus thought, following his friend.